Beachside
by eekfrenzy
Summary: Merry, Pippin, Frodo and Sam, on the beach in Dol Amroth, reflect on the War of the Rings and their return home...
1. View from the Brandybucks

After the celebrations of the downfall of the Dark Lord, the Fellowship stayed in Minas Tirith. Faramir, the Steward of Gondor and recently-named Prince of Ithilien, had been commanded by the King to recover his strength fully, as Aragorn took control of Gondor. Faramir retired to a place he loved best for a short week, the white beaches of Dol Amroth. As the Shire-folk had never seen the ocean (and as they had little to do in Minas Tirith, and Aragorn and Gandalf had _much_ to do), Faramir had invited them to travel with him. 

"Look at that Took, Frodo," Merry said, gazing across the warm white sand to a small figure bobbing amidst the white-tipped blue waves. "Just because he slays a troll, he thinks he's invincible." A wave toppled Pippin off the board he lay on and tumbled him into the water. A moment later a wetter hobbit (if that was possible) had clambered back on the board and paddled it into the waves of the Bay of Belfalas. Beside him, a gangly boy paddled on his own board, encouraging Pippin on. 

"He may have a point," Frodo lazily replied from under the shade cover, his eyes closed as he wiggled his toes into the hot sand. "He knows how to swim, and Bergil won't let any harm come to him." The sun's heat warmed his skin and his feet through the soft linen shirt and pants, and Frodo sighed in comfort. Would that his left shoulder would stop its low throbbing. 

Beside him Merry reached for his pipe and pouch with his right hand. He hissed with pain and irritation as his arm twinged with a painful coldness. Frodo opened an eye. "Your arm hurting again?" he asked, sitting up. 

"Just a twinge, nothing to complain about," Merry replied. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his arms exposed to the sun and the heat. Aragorn said that the coldness would soon fade, but Merry wondered if his arm would ever be warm again. Merry hated the weakness left to him, and even more, felt shamed that Frodo noticed. Compared to Frodo's wounds, Merry felt that his own were mere scratches. 

"Ah. Just because a Brandybuck slays a Wraith, he thinks he's invincible," Frodo gently smiled, a quiet but amused light in his eyes. "Let me see your pipe and pouch." He took Merry's pipe in his left hand hand, and started stuffing it with his now-healed right hand. His brow furrowed as his left shoulder throbbed sharply. 

Merry reached for his pipe, a wry grin on his lips. "Look at us, Frodo. A fine pair we are! Together we have a proper set of arms that work. Here, you hold my pipe first, and then I'll start on yours." 

A few moments later, with some laughing cooperation from each of them, Merry and Frodo puffed their pipes contently. "It's so grand," Merry said, eyes alight at the way the sun's light danced on the waves that crashed softly on the shore. "I'd never really imagined the ocean before… It's not like the Anduin at all." He lay back down. "And the sand--it soothes the hurt." 

"Mmm. The Elves sailed West from here, once," Frodo said. He gazed across the ocean, wondering what he might see if he stared long enough past the horizon. Did a green land with white beaches beckon him across the endless water? 

"I wonder if the land remembers? They said that Prince Imrahil has Elven blood in him… maybe they really never left?" Merry blew a ring over their heads. 

"I think they've all gone from here," Frodo replied sadly. He stared at the waves. "I wonder what it would be like, to go West?" 

"To sail over the ocean, and forget all your cares?" Merry peered sharply at his cousin. So fair and pale now, still so thin… Frodo will never recover, he thought. None of us will. "Forget all the pain? That does mean forgetting so much of the past few months. While there are many moments I'd willingly part with, there are many more I cherish." 

Frodo shrugged. "You have much happier memories than I, I fear. I just want peace, and settlement. And rest… so much rest…" 

"You want the Shire," Merry said. "You want to go back to Bag End, to the way it was. Before… all this." He gazed at the beach. A still-thin Samwise Gamgee walked slowly at the edge of the waves, obviously lost in thought. Pippin laughed as he and his board nearly sailed into Sam and tumbled him onto the sand. A pavilion's flags rippled in the breeze further back on the shore, the flags of the White Tree of Gondor matched with the White Swan-ships of Dol Amroth. "I'm not sure I want to go back," he said softly. 

Frodo stared at his cousin. "Merry, you don't want to go back home? To the Shire? You must, you will be the Master of Buckland some day." 

Merry's innermost thoughts boiled to the surface. "I… When Bilbo told his tales, I so wanted to leave with him. I wanted to see new places, new peoples. But I must stay. I've been trained to be the Master of Buckland. To stay in the Shire, with those wonderful hobbits that whisper how outlandish the Bucklanders are, how much stranger than even the Tooks!" His words were laced with bitterness. "And now… I have a station in Rohan, a place that most hobbits never want to hear about. I've had experiences that no other hobbit save us have had. Amongst the outlandish Brandybucks, I'm the most outlandish of all… and I'm the heir. I MUST stay. There's no one else. At least none that my father will recognize. But I don't want to!" 

Merry hung his head. "Nothing ever changes in the Shire, Frodo. I know you cherish that, but I don't. I don't want to be a curiousity, not here, not in Rohan, and certainly not in the Shire. I want to be Meriadoc Brandybuck, of Buckland. And Master Holdwine, of Rohan. And Merry, one of the Nine Walkers. I want to be all of it, not just one. But that won't happen in the Shire. I'll go back, and all the other hobbits will see is Meriadoc Brandybuck, the heir to the outlandish Bucklanders, come back from a journey that no one will care about." He gazed at the waves, barely noticing Pippin talking energetically with Sam at the water's edge, Pippin's board stuck upright in the sand. Never had Merry let his feelings emerge, until now. 

Laying his hand on Merry's arm, Frodo laughed softly. "I do know how you feel. After all, I'm the heir to old Mad Baggins, and a queer Brandybuck on top of that! But I think you do the Shire wrong, Merry. I think they will see the changes in you, in the world. They're not as blind as you believe, and you've not changed as much as you fear. The same traits that make you Merry of the Nine Walkers were always there in Meriadoc Brandybuck." Frodo grinned wickedly and delightedly. "No one who fell to your pranks would ever say that you did not have persistence, planning, and cunning! And if you are not there, how CAN the Shire know anything of Merry of the Nine Walkers, or Master Holdwine? You must show them." 

Merry stared at his cousin, at a loss for words. He'd never realized how Frodo felt--Frodo had always looked to the Shire for the good memories, and seemed to ignore old slights and disappointments. But Frodo had grown--all of them had. "When did you become so wise, Frodo? It seems like yesterday that you were showing me the shortcuts to Maggot's crops." 

The bitterness and wanderlust was still there, but Frodo had laid some of Merry's fears to rest. He hugged Frodo, grinning. The words had been said, the emotions laid bare, and a plan had been made. He felt as if a sore had been lanced, and though he knew that the cure would be long and not always pleasant, he would be whole. "I felt as if I'd lost my way, but now I'll just forge a new way. It's not as if the Brandybucks haven't before, and we'll do so again." A smile on his lips, he released Frodo from his grip. Already plans for parties, for meetings, for changes were bubbling in his mind. Once again he was at peace with himself and the Shire. 

The peace didn't quite last as Pippin ran towards them, splashing sand over Merry and Frodo. "You must try the water! It's so warm and playful! Come in and swim with me!" Behind the very wet and now sandy hobbit, Sam smiled ruefully as Pippin tried to hide a conspiratorial grin that he shared with Sam. 

"Might make you feel better, Frodo," Sam said quietly. "At any rate, you'll need to rinse off the sand shower that Master Peregrin has kindly given you." A light shone in his eyes of quiet determination, and somehow Frodo knew that he was not going to win any arguments with Sam. Frodo, with only a small sigh, got to his feet and started walking before Merry tapped him on his arm. 

"Race you to the water, Frodo," Merry said, on his feet and already moving across the sand. With a laugh and a yell, Frodo was not far behind him as they jumped into the warm waves. Pippin had already raced back to his board, grabbed it, and plunged into the water. Sam stayed on the beach, letting the foaming water dance onto his feet. 

Merry and Frodo, acting as one, commandeered the board that Bergil had been using and clambered on. Defeated, Bergil splashed onto the wet sand, as Sam watched his friends at play. Exchanging an understanding grin with Bergil, Sam approached the water to his thighs. "Pippin, what are you doin'?" Sam yelled. "You're not an elf, you're going to fall off that board! Peregrin Took!" 


	2. View from the Tooks

After the celebrations of the downfall of the Dark Lord, the Fellowship stayed in Minas Tirith. Faramir, the Steward of Gondor and recently-named Prince of Ithilien, had been commanded by the King to recover his strength fully, as Aragorn took control of Gondor. Faramir retired to a place he loved best for a short week, the white beaches of Dol Amroth. As the Shire-folk had never seen the ocean (and as they had little to do in Minas Tirith, and Aragorn and Gandalf had _much_ to do), Faramir had invited them to travel with him. 

Pippin yelped as he fell off his board into the blue waves of the Bay of Belfalas. Fortunately the water was warm, and oddly soft and playful. He clambered back onto his board, determined that he would master this new skill. Bergil paddled his own board closer to Pippin. "Are you all right?" he asked. The safety of the Ernil I Pheriannath had been entrusted to him, and he did not want to lose Pippin in the waves. 

Spitting out a mouthful of seawater, Pippin nodded. "I'm fine, just a bit winded." He would not confess to any sores from bouncing against the board, although the waters soothed his aching bones. The troll had been so large and heavy. Even though Aragorn (although Pippin would forever think of him as Strider the Ranger) had healed him, it would still be a while until his body fully recovered. He paddled the board out into the waves, ready to once again play with the ocean. 

On the beach, Sam walked slowly, splashing his feet in the shallow water of the edge of the waves. The sea was oddly soothing to him, but somehow the sound also scared him. What have I got to be afraid of? he thought. It's not like I'm likely to get on a seaboat anytime soon! A yell alerted him to sudden peril, as the waves swept Pippin's board to the beaches, tumbling Sam to sit in the wet sand as Pippin laughed. "Pippin!" Sam scolded, struggling to his feet and trying unsuccessfully to sweep the wet sand off his linen breeches. "It's enough that you're soaked, did you have to soak me too?" 

"Oh Sam, the water's so playful. You should try it -- it's not sneaky like the Brandywine. It just bounces you every which way," Pippin exclaimed. He stepped off his board, and picked it up from the sand. He shook his sodden curls, splashing even more water onto Sam. 

"Enough! I don't want to go swimmin'" Sam protested, retreating to the beach. He looked at Pippin closely. "You'd better put some lotion on, or you'll look just like a red apple," he cautioned, holding out a jar of lightly-scented ointment. Indeed, Pippin was beginning to be much pinker than was normal for him (unless he'd just spied a pretty hobbit-lass who smiled upon him). 

Pippin stuck his board into the ground so that it pointed into the air. He began spreading the lotion over his arms and shoulders. As he spread the ointment on his face, he asked, "Sam, what do you plan to do when you get back to the Shire?" 

"I hadn't really thought about it much," Sam replied automatically, then caught the skeptical look from Pippin. "All right, I had. When the journey… when I needed to think about something else, I thought about going back home. I thought I'd go back to the Gaffer, plant a garden, go back and work on Bag End again." He paused, then said in a quiet rush, "And marry Rosie." 

"Is that all?" Pippin blurted. "I mean, that's all well and good, but just a garden? Sam, you could build so much more than just one garden. You could do so much more." 

Sam narrowed his eyes as he glared at Pippin. "I just want one garden, free and mine. Nothing more." Remembering temptation in Mordor, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then spoke more softly. "All I want is what I can hold. A place of my own, a family of my own." 

Pippin knew he'd misstepped. "I'm sorry, Sam. I just meant… well, I know what I want to do when I go back." At Sam's inquiring look, he continued. "I want to tell everyone in the Shire everything. I want them to know what happened, and what nearly happened. I want everybody to know that we need to be a part of the world, not apart from it." 

"Sounds like you've been listening to some of the Big Folk talk," Sam said quietly. "It's not for us hobbit-folk, not all that talk and happenings." 

"I've been listening to Men speak, and an Elf, and a Dwarf," Pippin retorted. "I've been thinking about it a lot, since I looked into the palantir… since I felt his touch…" his voice trailed off as he looked down in shame. "Sauron was going to take everything, from the Men, from the Elves, and yes, even from us Hobbits. It was only because we all pulled together that he's no more. And I want everyone to realize it!" 

"The Rangers guarded the Shire, keeping us safe from harm. Did you know that one of the Rangers that fell at Pelennor was Aragorn's kin? I think I saw him once, by the Brandywine, when I was with my father. My father said to not talk to him, not to deal with Big Folk overly much, and certainly not the Rangers. 

"His name was Halbarad, Sam. I wonder if anyone else in the Shire would know his name." Pippin kicked at the ground, then looked at Sam. "I'm shamed of my father, shamed of all the Shire! They protected us, and we just ignored them. We ignored all the rest of the world, while we stayed safe and sheltered. And protected. We owe it to them, to remember them. We owe it to ourselves." 

Sam stared at Pippin, astounded. When did Pippin come of age? When did he stop being the foolish Took, and start becoming the Thain-in-training? "You've been thinking hard about this, then," he mused. "What if folks don't want to hear what you want to say?" 

"Then I'll show them. I'll not stay in the Shire forever--I want to return to Gondor, to Fangorn Forest. And when I come back to the Shire, I'll tell the tales and show them what I've brought. I'll wear my arms and my armor, so that everyone will know the seven stars and the one tree. I'll name my children after those I've come to know… and maybe one of them would be Halbarad," he finished softly. 

Sam looked at the young Took solemnly, then bowed a small bow of respect. "It's a worthy goal, Peregrin. I'd like to help, if I may," he said softly. 

Pippin clasped his arm with delight. "I know exactly how you can help! I need you to make Frodo record our tale. He's the only one of us that can tell the story right, so that everyone will remember. But he won't unless he sees a reason, and you're the only one who's been able to push him into things." 

"I'm not sure Frodo wants to remember everything," replied Sam sadly. "He's been through so much pain -- it's better for him that he forget." 

"You know Frodo better than that, Samwise Gamgee," Pippin scolded. "I know there's much that Frodo would like to forget, but I know he won't be able to. He'll keep remembering inside, and not let it out. And it will fester in him, much as the Ring did, until he'll have no rest. But if he writes it down, he needn't look at it again. But others will read it, and remember." He gazed at Sam, pleading in his eyes. 

Frodo needs to forget, Sam's head told him. He's been through too much to want to remember. But he needs to tell the tale, Sam's heart replied. He aches to tell all, but he doesn't know how. Sam sighed. He knew his heart was wiser than his head -- that had been proven to him in the darkest hours of his life. "You may be right, Pippin. But let me do it in my own way. He doesn't take to pushing as he used to." 

Pippin grinned. "After what you have done, I trust you to accomplish whatever you want! I'll let you do it in your own way, as long as it's done. It can do nothing but good, ultimately." A particularly playful wave shoved him from behind, knocking him onto the sand. Pippin let the waves roll over and around him before he scrambled to his feet. Sam stood his ground, refusing to fall into the water, forcing the waves to roll around his legs and feet. 

"But first things first! Sam, help me get Frodo into the water -- he and Merry have been much too serious under that shade-cover." Pippin ran to the two older hobbits who had been quietly smoking their pipes and talking. Pippin didn't exactly kick sand over Merry, but a large amount of sand was splashed over both Merry and Frodo. "You must try the water! It's so warm and playful! Come in and swim with me!" Pippin pleaded to them. A touch on his shoulder, and Pippin whirled to see Sam behind him. Pippin grinned to his co-conspirator, then just as quickly tried to wipe it from his face. 

"Might make you feel better, Frodo," Sam said quietly. "At any rate, you'll need to rinse off the sand shower that Master Peregrin has kindly given you." Squaring his shoulders, Sam gave Frodo the look that said 'You're going to do this, and there'll be no argument.' 

Frodo closed his mouth. That was a look he was much too familiar with over the past few weeks. He got to his feet, smiling with acquiescence to Sam, and started walking to the water. Pippin laughed, and ran to grab his board out of the sand. Frodo felt a tap on his arm as Merry cried "Race you to the water, Frodo", even as he started running across the sand. Frodo caught Merry's excitement, and laughed and yelled as he chased Merry into the waves. 

Splashing into the waves, Pippin clambered back onto his board. He felt as if he could do anything, and a sudden impulse came to him. He started standing on his board, carefully balancing upon it. Merry and Frodo, acting as one, commandeered the board that Bergil had been using and clambered on. Defeated, Bergil splashed onto the wet sand, as Sam watched Frodo playing in the waves. "Pippin, what are you doin'?" Sam yelled. "You're not an elf, you're going to fall off that board! Peregrin Took!" 


End file.
